Shekiba went back into the kitchen and looked around. There were cups and plates in the cabinets and a pile of pots and pans underneath the counter. Shekiba found a knife and sat down to peel the potatoes. It was a relief to be doing something and when Gulnaz came back in from the courtyard, she pretended not to notice the second wife in her kitchen, walking to her room instead.
They have no children, Shekiba realized. That was what was different in this house. No excited footsteps, high-pitched voices or crying. They lived alone and apart from the rest of Agha Baraan’s family.
It would be hard to get lost in such a small household. Gulnaz said nothing more to her than household instructions. She left dirty clothes in a pile and told her Aasif, Agha Baraan’s first name, needed his shirts for the morning. They did not eat together. Gulnaz and Agha Baraan shared their meals when he was home but Shekiba kept herself occupied with chores and made no motion to join them. Nor was she invited. She took her meals to her room or ate a few bites in the kitchen.
Aasif said no more than a few words to her each day, mostly small greetings in passing, his eyes averted. Shekiba would mumble something to complete the exchange. Aasif was different with Gulnaz. He chatted about the people he had seen and told her of Kabul’s local news. Gulnaz listened and asked questions. Sometimes they even laughed together. Shekiba wondered how things had been for Aasif and Gulnaz when they were first married. Had Aasif been as cool with her as he was now with Shekiba? Would he ever say anything more to her?
The silence was uncomfortable, but Shekiba dreaded a conversation with Aasif. That day in the palace, when she had spoken with him, he had seemed a gentle person, a noble man. But what she knew now made her question her first impression.
Four nights passed before he came to her room. Shekiba had begun to believe he had brought her only to help with the housework when she heard her door open. It was late and her eyes were just beginning to feel heavy with sleep. In the darkness, she could make out his thin silhouette.
He stood there for a moment, watching her. Shekiba kept her eyes mostly closed, feigning sleep and praying he would turn and walk back out. Her heart beat so loudly she was sure he could hear it. He came in and closed the door behind him. Shekiba nearly stopped breathing.
He sat beside her mattress on the floor, his back turned to her. His head was lowered.
“Things turned out badly,” he said quietly. “I regret that it happened this way.”
Shekiba stayed silent.
“She was a good woman and did not deserve what they did to her. I did not want… I did not think it would go so far. But once they found out, there was no stopping it. I was foolish to ignore what might happen — what did happen,” he whispered, his voice cracking. “She warned me and I ignored it. I ignored it. Still, she spared me or I would not be sitting here now. I am very aware of that.”
Ramblings of a guilty conscience. He knew Shekiba was aware of their affair. Maybe he thought Benafsha had revealed his identity to her or maybe he thought she had recognized him as he stumbled past her on that night. Shekiba did not know why he was making this admission but she listened carefully.
“Gulnaz is not happy. Things will be difficult for a time but it will get better.”
And without a word from Shekiba, Aasif, her husband, walked out of her room and closed the door behind him.
CHAPTER 53. RAHIMA
It was pitch-black when we arrived at the compound. Never had I been so relieved to see those gates. Maroof parked the car, looked at Hassan and sighed. Badriya had fidgeted so much in the last hour of the drive back that I’d thought she might just jump right out of the car. I didn’t bother with my burqa. Our car had barely stopped before I jumped out and opened the gate. There were lights on.
I opened the door to find Jameela rushing toward it. Her face told me everything.
“Jameela!”
“Oh, Rahima-jan! Allah, help us — dear, young mother!” Her voice rose and fell, my heart with it.
“Jameela, where’s my son? Where’s Jahangir? Is he all right?” I grabbed her by the arms and moved her aside, pushing my way toward her room. Shahnaz emerged, holding her chador tightly at her chin. She was looking down, avoiding my gaze. I stopped short when I saw her. Her lips were trembling.
“Why are you all out here? Who’s watching my son? Where is he?”
Jameela rushed back and grabbed me before I could run into her room. By this time, Badriya had joined her.
Jameela hugged me tightly and held my head to her chest.
“Rahima-jan, Rahima-jan, God has decided to take your son! He’s taken your little boy, dear girl. God give him peace, that darling little boy!”
I froze. That was what I’d read in Badriya’s face. I looked at her now but she, like Shahnaz, diverted her tearful eyes.
Someone wailed. Someone moaned no, no, no, no. My son’s name.
It was my voice.
This couldn’t be true. This couldn’t be real. I looked around, thinking everyone I lived with had gone mad.
Abdul Khaliq came into the hallway, his eyes red, his lips tight. He looked at me and shook his head. I saw my husband’s shoulders heave. Bibi Gulalai stood behind him, sobbing into a handkerchief.
“Why? Why would you leave a sick child? His mother should have been here with him!” she cried out.
I looked into my husband’s eyes, our first truly intimate moment. It was as if no one else existed.
It’s true… It’s true, Rahima. What they’re saying about Jahangir, our son, is true! Our beloved boy is gone!
Abdul Khaliq covered his eyes with his hands before he looked up, took a deep breath and yelled for someone to find his prayer cap. His voice cracked and my chest caved in as the air was sucked out of the house.
CHAPTER 54. RAHIMA
I’m not altogether sure what happened after that. There was whispering, wailing, cursing and praying. All at once and then one at a time. Voices and faces blurred around me.
Let me see my son, I screamed. I want to see Jahangir.
Have a sip of water. You look as if you’re about to pass out.
Someone brought a glass to my lips.
The other children were in the living room, the older ones somberly watching over the babies and trying to keep them quiet.
Abdul Khaliq’s compound had never experienced such tragedy. Even I, who had lost my father, my mother, my sisters and myself, even I could not believe God would add this to my lot.
They led me to Jameela’s room. My little boy. His tiny face looked pale, his lips gray. I fell to my knees and put my head on his small chest. I stroked his chestnut hair, touched his full cheeks. I talked to him as if there was no one else in the room, as if there was no one else in the world. I wanted to comfort him and breathe life back into his little body. I was his mother. I had given him life and when he was ill, I had nursed him back to health. Why should now be any different?
I snapped when I felt a hand pull at my elbow.
“Leave us alone! I need to make my son better. He always wakes when I whisper his name. You’ll see him yawn, rub his eyes and look around in confusion. He’s going to tell me he missed me and that I shouldn’t go away again.”
There were traditions, rules that needed to be followed.
One hand became two, or maybe it was four. When there were enough, the hands became stronger than I and the room shrank away from me. I was in the hallway. I was on the floor. I was outside of myself. The arms melted away.